From Another World
by BubblingCloud
Summary: "Living in her world, yet living in another." Trelawney's prophecy resonates in Snape's mind. A young girl bound to him? Ridiculous. Ten years ago, he didn't have the least idea that his destiny was now tied to hers. Will he be able to put his pride aside and overcome his prejudices against her? [IC Snape, Canon Compliant]


_A chilly Autumn evening in the South of France. Dead leaves were slowly falling down from trees, weakly lit by the setting sun. The countryside was as it always had been, calm and peaceful, among the subtle scent of olive trees and rosemary._

_Two little children were playing cheerfully, one running after the other, stumbling and laughing. They did not pay attention to the four women sitting at a garden table near the mansion, hiding their faces in their hands. They did not pay attention to their cousins, brothers and sisters sitting on the entrance stairs, their faces marked by extreme angst as they stared at the two children. Nor did they pay attention to the group of men standing silent behind the women, they too fixing the carefree pair. The eldest man embraced one of the youngest women._

_Slowly, the old man walked towards the children, who had stopped dead in their tracks. He kneeled in front of them and gently took their hands in his._

_"Come my children, night is falling" he said simply._

_Exactly four hours later, a powerful scream was heard throughout the mansion._

_And everything fell silent again._

* * *

"The lonely man will be given a precious ally before the darkest of times. She was born two days after the dawn of the summer, before the birth of the Boy-Who-Lived. Living in her world yet living in another."

The smooth voice of Albus Dumbledore faded away. Before him was a young man in black robes, skinny and rather tall, staring at him in incredulity.

"That is what Trelawney said?"

"Yes, Severus."

"As usual, hazy words and ambiguous meaning," Snape said haughtily. He had not forgotten the prophecy he had passed on to Voldemort and the terrible consequences it had. "And why are you telling me this, Dumbledore?"

"Because I think -I am convinced- that it refers to you."

Snape frowned. _Him? _

"And why not to _you_?" he asked.

Dumbledore bore his eyes into his:

"_You_ are my precious ally."

* * *

"Up, Master Tarcisius! Up!"

The boy woke up with a start as he felt the front of his nightshirt being pulled. He had a moment of panic before seeing a house-elf on his chest.

"Dolsy! I already told you a hundred times, don't wake me up like this!" Tarcisius growled.

"Master Tarcisius is late for his morning tuition, and his father asks him to come immediately," Dolsy said softly before disappearing with a snap of her fingers.

His mind still foggy from a good night's sleep, it took some seconds for her words to sink in. His eyes widened all of a sudden, and he quite literally jumped out of his bed, swearing like a trooper as he put on his robes and shoes.

He looked at his clock. 8.35 AM. Tuition should have started five minutes ago. He swore again before storming out of his room.

"Tarcisius," a deep voice said as the boy was about to jump down the marble stairs.

His father. He swore for himself before turning to the tall, smirking man standing in the corridor.

"No breakfast until break time. Go."

"Yes, Father."

They were in mid-July and school holidays had started two weeks ago. Couldn't they relax for once? Like his siblings, Tarcisius had had private tuition ever since he could remember. Every week until entering Hogwarts, then every summer for a month. Passing the hall, the young boy looked greedily at the park through the tall windows before entering the immense library.

"Ah, Tarcisius, my boy!"

"Good morning Mr. Henley, I'm sorry for being late."

Henley dismissed Tarcisius' apologies with a movement of his hand and invited him to sit across him at the small table. The young boy smiled to his eldest brother Aloysius sat at another table with his own preceptor further away in the middle of the room. He caught a glimpse of his sister sat at the third table, reading a text to her severe-looking supervisor.

As Tarcisius opened his Theory of Transfiguration book, he realised how lucky he was to have the gentlest preceptor out of the three present in the room. He had known Henley for nine years now; he was the one who taught him how to read and write. He had a healthy amount of caustic humour that sometimes made the young boy forget he was actually on holiday. The two brothers knew that years of academic pressure had led them to becoming two of the brightest students at Hogwarts without much effort.

"Try again, your explanation of the correlation between concentration and wand movement is seriously lacking."

Aloysius sighed discreetly, looking at a page of _Theory of Advanced Spellcrafting and Its Application To Duelling and Defense_ which content was written in a horribly complicated style. He had to read it only twice and summarise and explain its substance to Professor Westwood without making a single mistake. To him, it seemed much easier to measure the daily amount of black tea the old scholar would gulp down.

"Allow me a moment to make things clear in my head, Professor."

"Thirty seconds, no more," Westwood said simply.

The seventy-year-old scholar watched amused as his young student closed his eyes in a rush and concentrated again. He stared distractedly at the table next to him, and met eyes with the young girl. She smiled back and returned to her silent reading.

"Professor?"

"Do start again, Aloysius."

At the break, Tarcisius jumped off his chair to have breakfast in the kitchen while Aloysius talked with the three preceptors. He looked worriedly at his sister, whose head was resting on her arms, seemingly asleep. After a few minutes, the library door opened suddenly and a tall man walked assuredly into the room.

Attilius Riesling was the kind of mysterious man people like to talk about. Westwood and Henley hated the coldness in his pale blue eyes and the way his thin lips smirked.

"Good morning Father," Aloysius said, smiling slightly.

Riesling looked at his sleeping daughter. He curled his lip and said nothing. Aloysius' heart skipped a beat. His father turned to him at last and gave him a large smile:

"Good morning, Aloysius."

Abelus Ogden looked back and forth between his sleeping student and her father. He met eyes with Aloysius, who had an unmistakable glimpse of fear in his eyes. He frowned. Perhaps he had been too intense this morning.

Ogden made a movement towards her, intending to gently wake her up but Riesling stopped him by touching his arm.

"Professor Ogden. Does that mean the girl gives up?"

"It is break time, Mr. Riesling. She never sleeps during lessons, I can assure you."

Riesling's eyes bore into him with such intensity that Ogden felt as though his breathing was hampered.

"And how are her intensive lessons going, Professor?" he spoke in a low voice.

"Quite well, Mr. Riesling." Ogden replied in the same tune, "I would not be surprised at all if she proves herself to be among the brightest students at Hogwarts."

Startled, Riesling raised an eyebrow. How could this be possible? He looked again at the slumped form resting on the table. Not only had she survived nearly six years with the infamously difficult Abelus Ogden but she was also going halfway through her intensive month with him. And at the end of the month, he recalled, she would be among the Thirty, the famous, small group of students who had managed to stay for more than six years with Ogden.

He gritted his teeth and bent over the middle-aged scholar:

"Bring her to her utmost limit. Let her show me what she's worth," he whispered.

The dangerousness in his voice alarmed Ogden, who stared as Riesling left. He stood silent for a few minutes, staring at the park through the high windows.

_Bring her to her utmost limit?_

He felt waves of anger fluttering in his stomach; he was severe, not cruel. Had Riesling not realised what Elinor was worth? Did he refuse to understand why his own daughter slept between lessons?

He patted Elinor's shoulder. The young girl woke up in a start and Ogden smiled at her confusion.

"End of the break, miss Riesling, open your_ Magical Herbs and Fungi_ book."

He could not help thinking about what Riesling had told him and it wrung his heart when he looked into the young face who was so intently staring at him as he spoke.

"Elinor," he said when the lesson ended, "I will ask much from you in the next two weeks, my dear."

The girl frowned, surprised. It was the first time Ogden spoke to her so affectionately, and it was more worrying than reassuring.

He sighed.

"Brace yourself for tomorrow and the days to come. You will have to show your father the full extent of your willpower."

Elinor nodded, saying nothing. Her hazel eyes were filled with a mix of worry and stubbornness and her usual light smile was wiped off her face.

"May I have a bucket next to me tomorrow?" she said.

Ogden felt like someone had stabbed his stomach. He buried his face in his hands, and remained still for a few seconds. Elinor had said this in such a repressed, matter-of-fact tone that he hardly believed she had turned eleven just a month ago. When his face came out again, he spoke in a throaty voice:

"Of course."


End file.
